Why Does The "Fishing Queen" Always Flirt With Me? - Chapter 11

Tang Wangyue couldn’t tell if Yun Chuxian was just being polite or if she actually meant it.

Back at the hotel, she quickly washed up and crawled into bed. She pulled out her laptop and dug through a pile of folders until she found her original outline and character biographies for The Eldest Princess.

She had already studied the shooting script. Now, she planned to synthesize the novel, the script, and her own original insights into a fresh set of character notes. She hoped this material would help Yun Chuxian portray the Princess even more effectively.

The Eldest Princess was her favorite creation. Since Chuxian was a perfect fit for the role and had already signed on, Wangyue felt it was her duty to ensure the drama reached its full potential.

She meticulously rationalized her actions: This is for the good of the character, not for Yun Chuxian.

It was 11:00 PM by the time she finished organizing the files. She hesitated. It was late; would sending this now disturb the actress’s sleep?

While she was wavering, a message suddenly popped up from Yun Chuxian—only to be retracted a second later.

?

Wangyue replied instantly: What’s wrong?

The moment she hit send, she wanted to slap herself. The other woman had retracted the message; it could have been a mistake or meant for someone else. Replying that fast made her look… a certain way. She quickly retracted her own message, hoping to act as if nothing had happened.

A few moments later, her doorbell rang. Wangyue’s heart gave an involuntary leap of expectation. Who would be at her door at this hour?

She had just messaged Yun Chuxian. Could it be her?

It seemed unlikely. A superstar knocking on someone’s hotel door in the middle of the night? That didn’t sound like her. Especially since, on set today, Chuxian had been the picture of cold, professional distance—a complete 180 from how she behaved when they were alone.

Two possibilities warred in Wangyue’s mind. One: Chuxian didn’t want anyone to know about their connection. Two: Chuxian was simply toying with her.

The first made sense. Even if it was just a blind date, a celebrity wouldn’t want their private life exposed to the public eye so early. But if it was the second?

Wangyue walked to the door in a bit of a daze. Looking through the peephole, she saw a woman in a hat. The woman’s head was lowered, obscuring her face.

“Who is it?” Wangyue asked, frowning.

“It’s me.”

That familiar voice. It really was Yun Chuxian.

Wangyue opened the door immediately. Chuxian looked up, revealing her stunning features. She lightly waved a rolled-up script and a folder of character notes. “Screenwriter Tang, could I consult you on your thoughts regarding the character’s creation?”

The cool, polite tone hit Wangyue’s ears, and her heart sank a little. Wait—how did Chuxian know she was the one who created the character?

Despite her internal chill, Wangyue stepped aside to let her in. As she closed the door, her confusion got the better of her. She walked over to Chuxian and asked, “How… how did you know?”

Before she could get any closer, Chuxian suddenly raised the rolled-up script like a sword, pressing the end of the paper cylinder against the center of Wangyue’s chest. “So, you really are the original author of The Eldest Princess.”

The script acted as a physical barrier. Chuxian used it to nudge her back, and Wangyue found herself retreating step by step. Her calves eventually hit the edge of the sofa, and she tripped, falling backward onto the cushions.

Actually, it was more like she had been pushed.

Wangyue’s brain seemed to short-circuit. She lay there, stunned. “What… what are you doing?”

Chuxian gracefully leaned over her, her weight resting lightly on Wangyue’s body. She felt like a cat that had just finished a bath—soft, fragrant, and supple.

A faint smile played on the actress’s face. “Why would a Screenwriter Tang, who famously never follows a production to the set, suddenly show up for this one?”

Her voice was soft and seductive. Wangyue instinctively looked up, her gaze locking with Chuxian’s. The woman’s eyelashes were long, and her pupils seemed to hold a mesmerizing spell; a single look was enough to stir an uncontrollable storm in anyone’s heart.

Wangyue tried to sit up, but Chuxian’s hands pinned her shoulders down. The actress’s fingertip brushed against Wangyue’s eyelashes, as if she found them fascinating.

“This is my job,” Wangyue said, trying to steady her mind and stop it from wandering into dangerous territory.

“Job?” Chuxian leaned down, burying her face against Wangyue’s shoulder and letting out a low, muffled chuckle. “Isn’t it because Screenwriter Tang is infatuated with me?”

Is she being narcissistic? Or is this a test?

Wangyue didn’t know the answer, but she knew the truth in her own heart. Why had she chosen to join the crew after originally refusing Mo Lai? Was it just because Mo Lai had already submitted her name? Names that are submitted can be withdrawn. The fact that Mo Lai had gone through with it meant she and Director Sun had reached an agreement; as long as the Chief Director approved, no one would complain.

So, why was she here? The answer was obvious. But admitting it out loud was a different matter entirely.

“Yun Chuxian, what exactly do you want?” Wangyue asked. Even if the fall was accidental, she should have gotten up by now. Being pinned like this was making her heart race far too fast.

“I want…” Chuxian started, her voice heavy with subtext as her gaze drifted from Wangyue’s eyes down to her lips.

Wangyue was the type who dressed purely for comfort, especially when working. To her, fashion was secondary to functionality. She usually wore quick-dry sets or simple sleeveless tops and shirts—a minimalist style. She wasn’t high-maintenance in her dress, though she was meticulous about sun protection—usually zipped up to her chin in a sun-hoodie with a mask and sunglasses.

But at night, she was in her lounge gear. A pair of short shorts and a sleeveless top left her skin exposed, and she could feel the heat radiating from the woman pressing against her.

Chuxian’s deliberate ambiguity made it impossible for Wangyue not to overthink. Her lips looked flush, soft, and incredibly inviting.

Chuxian’s throat moved as she unconsciously swallowed. Realizing she was losing her composure, she immediately stood up. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”

The sudden distance left Wangyue dazed for a moment. The lingering heat of their proximity was still there; it definitely hadn’t been an illusion.

Wangyue sat up, trying to hide her reddened ears. Thankfully, her hair was long enough to cover the flush spreading down her neck.

“It’s fine,” she said, feigning composure as she picked up the script that had fallen to the floor.

She turned to her laptop, opened the file she had just organized, and turned the screen toward Chuxian. “You probably came here for this.”

She had intended to email it, but suddenly, she didn’t want to. If Chuxian wanted to discuss the finer details, she’d have to come to her.

Perhaps pushed by the repeated provocations, a stubborn, possessive side of Wangyue had been piqued—though she was careful not to let it show.

Chuxian arched an eyebrow, the seductive haze in her eyes fading as she shifted back into a professional state. However, a tiny smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

My little liar really is talented.

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